The Family That Kills Together
by VanityFlair
Summary: Damian Moriarty, the son of Jim and Diana Moriarty, has the face of an angel. His soul, however, is as dark as that of his parents. [ONE-SHOT]


**Here's a present for all those who wanted a sequel to 'The Devil Wears Westwood'. It's a small, semi-fluff one-shot featuring a day in the life of the Moriarty Family.**

**I'll have a new series out in the next coming months, so sit tight! Don't worry; I haven't forgotten you guys!**

**I love you all! Make good choices!**

* * *

Damian Moriarty was, by all accounts, the perfect student.

He never got into fights, his homework was always turned in on time, his penmanship was excellent. He was a quiet boy, who didn't have a lot of friends; but, it was clear it was by choice. His classmates didn't understand him.

However, that didn't stop the young girls fawning over him. By the age of 18, he looked more like his father, though he still had the delicate features of his mother. His cherubic face sent them swooning as he passed by, flashing a small grin their way.

They never stood a chance.

Those with a careful eye saw that behind his almost black eyes and his seemingly innocent face was darkness. They could see him mentally take apart and analyze everything he set his eyes on, and calculate exactly how to use it against someone or use it for his own benefit.

The moment he turned 18, his parents had begun his training.

But as brilliant as he was, as perfectly fitted for taking over his father's organization, he wasn't satisfied.

He spent a lot of time in his room. It was jumbled, messy, a spatter of dried blood against a wall as a memoir of his first kill.

Age 15, a horrid old man no one even missed.

It was fun.

The chaos of his room scared him sometimes. Not that he was afraid of uncovering it. He was more than capable of organizing everything and making his room more unspoiled than the Smithsonian.

But he wouldn't dare touch it. He was afraid he would get lost in it. And never want to return.

He wanted to tear his skin off at times, his parents never giving him a moment of reprieve. They knew better than anyone that the world of crime never slept. They knew better than anyone that in order to stay on top, they had to keep their eyes everywhere. He knew they would one day set him up as another leader of the organization.

He was trained, night and day.

His godfather Sebastian taught him tracking, hunting, and shooting.

His other godfather, Griffiths, taught him surveillance and hand-to-hand combat.

It wasn't like his parents cared only about his future in the organization. His mother was horrendously observant when it came to his emotions, and it was during breakfast one morning, while he was in a particularly sour mood, that his mother began to stare at him with a knowing look on her face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Damian asked after the fourth time he caught his mother staring.

"Because you're my son, and I know when something is wrong with you." She returned, the motherly look he knew all too well gracing her features.

Between his father and mother, he always felt closer to his father. Jim never pestered his son, never pressured him to do anything other than excel at school. Damian heard his classmates complain how their parents were constantly hounding them to follow exactly in their footsteps.

Damian's parents only wanted him to take over the business. And while at this point in his life he didn't want to, he knew later in life there wouldn't be anything more appealing.

Damian's relationship with his mother was normal, as normal as a relationship among world-class criminals could be. She never harassed him about his love life, or why he never had friends. But, she could be awfully annoying when it came to his more teenage emotions. It was during those times she never let up.

"Well, knock it off." Damian snapped back, shifting in his seat.

"No."

"It's creepy!"

"It's called being a mother. And I'm going to keep staring at you until you tell me what's going on." his mother shrugged, the only change to her expression being a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Fine, I'll leave the room. You can't stare at me if I'm not here."

Damian got up and went into his bathroom, one place he was guaranteed privacy from his mother. His father was a different story, but Jim usually slept in late on the weekends. Damian was thankful his room was on the opposite side of the house; he definitely didn't want to hear the reason his dad was so tired in the mornings. He turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, looking to erase the tension from his head..

As the water cascaded over his body, Damian felt some of the stiffness ebb. He had no idea what he was going to do about any of it - what he was going to tell his parents or what he was going to do about everything… or how he was ever going to erase one of the best shags of his life, because it had been truly spectacular.

Deciding he'd had enough of his inner turmoil, Damian shut off the water and stepped into the brisk air, shivering as it hit his body. He wiped the steam off the mirror and looked at himself. He didn't look any different than he had yesterday, nor did his face show the utter distress he was feeling.

He dried himself off quickly and put his pants back on. Knowing he had to venture back out into the rest of the house at some point, Damian sucked in a breath and gathered up his courage, and opened the door, only to be confronted by his father right away.

"It's dreadfully boring."

"What is?" Damian asked, holding his pile of clothes in front of him as some cover.

"Your little early morning tantrums," Jim responded, huffing out a breath. "You know your mother is concerned for your well-being. And when you smart off to her, it's not just her that gets angry."

"Sorry to ruin your idea of a perfect family," Damian bit out as he pushed his way past his father.

Jim grabbed his arm and shoved him up against the nearest wall. "This is going to stop, young man. And I'm not just talking about the attitude. I'm talking about sneaking out late. I'm talking about the secret conversations late at night. Your mother and I give you an extreme amount of leeway and we don't do it so you can throw it back in our face with an insolent attitude."

Damian wanted to respond, to throw his father's words back in his face and prove him wrong. But he couldn't.

"I'm sorry, dad. It was a mistake."

"Don't apologize to me," His father replied, releasing his son's arm. "Apologize to your mother."

Damian watched his father walk away. He had heard stories about his father's behavior in the years before Damian was born. He was known to be unpredictable, easily bored and capable of flying off the handle at a moment's notice.

Married life had calmed him down only slightly. Nowadays, Jim expressed nothing short of grace under fire, having his wife to support him and help make decisions. As lesser men have been known to say, Jim kept his shit together spectacularly. He rarely lost his cool and most of the incidents where he had were attributed either to Damian's recklessness or something one of his operatives had done.

Damian knew better than to argue with his father, especially when the older man was right. Damian blew out a breath and headed downstairs to the breakfast room. His mother was still sitting there, nursing her second cup of tea. His father had taken a seat next to her, both to comfort her and make sure his son apologized as he should.

"Mom," Damian started as he sat down, "I'm sorry that I snapped at you this morning, and a few other mornings."

"It's alright, dear," she replied, giving him a small smile.

"It isn't," her husband muttered.

"Jim," she warned lightly.

"No, mom, he's right. I've been rude and abusing the trust you guy put in me. I've been distracted and unfocused, and I'm sorry." He sighed, his hands fidgeting slightly. "I met someone, and I didn't know if you guys would approve."

"What's her name?" His mother asked, a smile pricking the sides of her mouth. It was clear she had known for some time that her son was suffering the pangs of love.

"_His_ name is Ben."

Damian braced himself for the backlash.

"Ben?" His mother raised an eyebrow. Her expression developed into one of appreciation. "Ben is a good name."

"Wait," Damian was taken aback. "You're not mad?"

"Son, as long as he's not an upstanding member of society with extremely strong morals, then I don't see anything wrong with it." Jim told his son, slinging his arm across his wife's shoulders.

Damian smiled at his parents, his mother reaching over to rub his hand lovingly. From the outside, they looked like a picture perfect family. It was hard to think they would be responsible for more murders than imaginable by the end of the day.


End file.
